


Banished

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of Drabbles by Helmaninquiel [71]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: “I need you to forgive me.”“You walked away. Not me.”2015 Christmas Drabble Collection





	

It was the first time you had seen Eomer in months. He was worn from battle, looking as if years had been added to him in the time he was away, and as if meeting his people, no matter how little there were left now, in Helm’s Deep was the only place he cared to be.

You had spotted the small group of Rohan Riders, their banners flying proudly as they rode through the road towards the battered gates. It filled you with a dreadful anticipation. If Eomer died… If Eomer and Eowyn and Theoden died… you’d be Queen of Rohan. A county you had sowed and planted by hand until your eighteenth name day when Eomer had rode into your village, and promptly fell in love.

Your palm ran over your swollen belly as it often did in worry. Whoever was in that small party would be the survivors. “My Lady?” You had not realized you had stopped in your walk, surveying the on-going repairs the abled women were offering to do while waiting for their husbands and sons to return from war. You had been forbidden to help, though you desperately wanted to, because of your condition.

You blinked rapidly with indecision, before you steeled your shoulders. “We must go to the gates.”

Your handmaiden, a young girl of only sixteen, took your arm and hurriedly helped you down the stairs. You were not to strain yourself, though you tried. And once you reached the gates, you felt your throat catch as the riders rode past you with a speed and intensity, before halting a few yards in the courtyard. Other women of Rohan anxiously seemed to be appearing in the streets and ramparts, eager to spot loved ones.

“So few,” you whispered softly. And there were. Of the hundreds of men that had rode out to battle, perhaps no more than a few dozen now stood before you. The men dismounted at whatever speed inconvenienced them. Some required help to get down from their horses, nursing injuries that were mostly healed and manageable, but likely caused much pain from the ride. Women wept, and embraced their sons, or husbands, or fathers.

You moved not a single muscle until the last rider took off their helmet, so you could see the faces that returned. And though you spotted him, you waited. The first muscle to move was your jaw, falling open just enough for your breath of relief. The second were your feet, carrying you across the square even when your handmaiden called out for you to slow down. It started at an eager walk, until you were so close that you could not help but nearly run the last few steps. The last muscles were in your arm, propelling your hand with a sharpness that resounded in the square.

Eomer clutched his face, where there was a stinging pain of your slap. And you could tell it pained him. But before he could stay a single word, either to insist what that was for, or to scold you, you cared not, you threw your arms around him, and broke. You had not cried when he left, you had not cried when he promised to return from a battle that you knew so few would, if any at all. You had not cried when you saw riders from all over the valley heading towards Gondor in an effort to aid them.

But you cried now, clutching your husband, now King, to you and smelling the sweat and grime of battle and the road on his armor. It seemed he did not hold a grudge for your well-earned hit, instead pulling you even closer to him, until your belly pressed almost painfully against his hip. Theoden was gone, a father-figure in a city you had never felt at home in until he offered you kind words and a blessing for his nephew and your relationship. And Eowyn… Eowyn had not returned. Surely she was not gone as well? Otherwise, she would have been in the return party.

“I need you to forgive me,” he murmured in your hair. You did not register what he said until your sobs of heartbreak, relief, and joy subsided. Pulling back, you showed your confusion openly.

“Forgive you? For?”

“For making you a Queen so young. I had made you a promise of not a day before forty.” You felt a laugh bubble out of you, and you pulled away from him completely, wiping at your eyes.

“I should have known to trust any promises you make,” you murmured teasingly, trying desperately to stop the tears from falling, yet it seemed they would not. Eomer stepped towards you once more, to minimize the distance, and his hands came to either side of your belly, where your child was growing quickly, and strong. “First our wedding vows to always stay at one another’s side, now making me something I’ve no preparation for, so young.” He lifted a hand, brushing a tear on your cheek, before giving you a searing kiss.

It was everything your months apart was worth. All the love and devotion of a man that you had gone to the edges and beyond for, and he in return. The kiss was worth everything you felt for him. Worth everything you would ever feel, and more.

“You will make the finest queen Rohan has ever seen,” Eomer murmured against your lips gently. “But I cannot take the blame for leaving your side-”

“You walked away. Not me,” you returned playfully. He kissed you briefly, nipping at your lips, and not caring that anyone in the remnants of your kingdom could see you. He was never shy about showing his love for you.

“Banished. There was a difference. I had no choice, and the wild is no place for a woman, no less one with child.”

You rolled your eyes. “Banished. Left behind. They’re all the same.” But you kissed him warmly in return, to remind him how appreciative you were that he was there. “Both your uncle and Eowyn… how did that happen?”

“Eowyn’s alright,” Eomer said softly. “She’s getting married, actually, in Gondor, to the Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithien. He seems fond of her free spirit and need to be free. Just before I left, she was planning a ride through the surrounding areas with him to see the mountains and find an area that she could claim as her own to visit whenever she wished.”

“It sounds like her,” you admitted. “But marriage makes me think it must be someone else.” Eomer chuckled in agreement, and his kiss was light against your brow. “We have much to prepare for our journey home.”

“But first, I wish to be with my wife.” It was a wish you were more than willing to grant him.


End file.
